


You Should See Me In A Crown

by ladyschrei



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alec finds his family, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, DNA test gone wrong, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, Modern Royalty, Multi, Romance, Royal family bonding, Valentine you are not the father, more tags to be added later, wut r politics?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 12:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyschrei/pseuds/ladyschrei
Summary: Can you remember something that doesn’t exist?Alec Wayland sometimes has flashbacks - of people he doesn't know, and places he's never seen. Living in small town New Jersey with his brother, Jace, and their father, Michael, the only thing Alec has to look forward to is graduation in three weeks.Until a DNA test changes it all.Because it proves that Alecisn'tAlec Wayland. He's Alexander Gideon Lightwood, the lost prince of Idris. And if he doesn't learn how to properly rule a country soon, he could lose his title and the throne - for good.





	You Should See Me In A Crown

The world around him is fuzzy, but familiar. That happens sometimes.

This dream.

It always comes to him when he’s least expecting it. Sometimes when he’s awake, too, he’ll see it. A passing car, the touch of the wind, a whisper; anything can trigger it. Almost like a memory.

But it can’t be. He’s never _been_ here.

Can you remember something that doesn’t exist?

It always starts the same: he’s in a room, he knows that much. It’s wide, like it could stretch on forever. Sunlight streams down from high windows, but not enough of it. Like it’s rising. Or setting.

And he’s not alone. There is someone else, a child. They call out to him. They laugh. Their voice is high, and their face is fuzzy. Everything is fuzzy.

And then Alec shrinks to their size. And the more he shrinks, the further away the child is. And the fuzzier they are. And the darker it gets.

And then he hears a voice; it belongs to a person that wasn’t there before. And the child stops playing. And Alec knows, in a moment, they will be gone for good.

The voice calls his name, and it sounds wrong. And dream Alec isn’t scared. But real Alec is. He’s frightened.

And then the voice speaks again. “I love you, my son.”

But it’s a lie. And that’s how Alec knows it’s not real.

And then he wakes up.

* * *

 

There’s only a moment’s worth of silence between Alec opening his eyes, and his alarm clock going off. He groans at the same time his brother, Jace, does, sticking out his hand to find the snooze button and knocking things off their shared nightstand in the process.

“Turn it off,” Jace whines from the next bed, turning over onto his stomach and burrowing further under the covers.

“’m trying,” Alec slurs before his fingers find the right switch, pressing it and settling the room into silence once again.

The numbers on the alarm read 6:00, and with barely open eyes, Alec wills them not to move again so he can go back to sleep. It’s still dark out; sunrise won’t be for almost another hour, and the room is chilly, though by noon, Alec knows he’ll be sweating. With only two more weeks until June, the weather in New Jersey was finally starting to cool off.

With a fleeting thought, Alec wonders if he’ll be able to go to the beach this year.

They move around a lot, Alec, Jace, and their dad. They never stay in one place for too long. Never long enough to settle down, never long enough to make friends. Never long enough to see the ocean.

Sometimes, when they’re moving again and their car is crossing a bridge, any bridge, Alec stares at the water and pictures himself swimming away. He’d go somewhere he could see the beach every day. Somewhere he could feel the water between his toes and taste the salt on his skin.

 _This year will be different,_ he thinks. Because this year, he’ll be free.

Alec hears the door to his father’s bedroom open across the hall, and he glances at the clock again. 6:07.

The pounding on their bedroom door makes Alec jump, though Jace just whines again.

“Alec, Jace, are you up?” their father calls, though Alec doesn’t respond. He thinks about when the day will come where he won’t have to. He’ll be somewhere warm, and sunny, where he won’t ever have to take orders from anyone ever again.

“Answer me, please,” their father says, and though his voice is quieter, his tone isn’t.

“We’re up,” Alec calls back, and Jace throws his covers off with a huff, his hair sticking up everywhere as he sits up, annoyed.

“Meet me downstairs for breakfast. I’m making waffles!” their father calls, and the stairs creak as he makes their way down them.

They’ve lived in houses as big as small mansions, and apartments so tiny it could barely fit the three of them in there altogether. This house is decent, compared to the rest. It’s old, and every move you make, it makes one back. There’s no way to sneak around, not without someone knowing.

They all share a bathroom, and Jace and Alec share a bedroom. The kitchen seats the three of them easily, and the living room has old floral couches and chairs from the thrift store, with a TV that only gets local channels. The dining room is their father’s office, and he’s the only one allowed in there.

Alec can hear the running water of the kitchen sink, the pipes rattling as it flows, and Jace walks by his bed with a lopsided grin.

“Up and at ‘em,” he says with a mimicking voice, slapping Alec on the leg as he heads for the bathroom.

Alec waits until Jace has closed the door before he gets up, stretching and walking over to the opposite wall. There’s a calendar hanging there above the dresser, and though it’s hard to see in the dark, Alec can just barely make out the red X’s marking off the days. He grabs his marker, pulling off the cap and marking off one more.

Twenty-two days until graduation. Twenty-two days until Alec can leave, for good.

He gets dressed in the dark. He still hasn’t told Jace he plans to leave; he doesn’t know how to. He wonders if Jace will go with him. He _wants_ Jace to go with him, wherever he goes. Just not their father.

Jace flips on the light when he comes back in, making Alec wince. He shields his eyes and makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth quickly and combing his hair. Jace waits for him on the landing, and they head down the steps together.

There’s no family portraits of them hanging on the walls on their way down; there’s no photos of any of them at all. Just peeling wallpaper and a wobbly banister. The news is playing on the TV, the sound tinny, and Alec hears the weather as he passes. Foggy now, cloudy skies later for a breezy day. Their father stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room to listen, a spatula in his hand and the waffle maker humming on the counter behind him.

He cooks like this every day, with the news on. Alec can never tell if he’s listening for bad news, or good.

“Good morning, boys,” their father greets cheerfully as Jace plops down at the table, running his fingers through his hair.

“Milk, or orange juice?” Alec asks as he opens the fridge, grabbing three glasses from the cabinet overhead.

Their father hums thoughtfully. “Orange juice,” he says, and Alec pours him and Jace each a glass, grabbing some milk for himself.

Alec sets the table around Jace, who tries to put his head down and sleep on it. Other than their silverware and a couple of things that managed not to get broken over the years, most of their cups and dishes are plastic. Glass would break during all their moves, and besides, plastic was cheaper and easier to replace. Most of their things came from discount and dollar stores, not that Alec or Jace ever minded.

Their reasons for moving around always varies, and their father manages to never use the same excuse twice. The taxes are too high, the people are too rude, the schools aren’t good, the economy is bad, there’s not enough work. And more recently, bluntly: because their father said so.

Whenever Alec is told they’re moving again, he never asks why anymore. He stopped asking a long time ago.

“Sit up straight, please, Jace,” their father asks as he serves breakfast. There’s a small dish of butter and half a bottle of syrup to use. Alec finds a small handful of strawberries in the fridge and cuts them up, spreading them over his waffles.

They all eat in silence, the news continuing on in the background. Their father never asks them to hurry _out loud,_ but the rule is always there. He can’t be late for work, and besides, they can’t be late for school, definitely not Alec. _Especially_ not Alec.

Alec’s always been the smartest, though their father might disagree that it’s actually _he_ who is, out of the three of them. Alec always keeps his grades up and his head down, like his father taught him. Well, the head down part he taught, at least. It’s always hard to be new, it’s even worse to be new _and_ a distraction, his father would say.

And now, Alec is valedictorian. His father wasn’t exactly _pleased_ with the news; it goes against his whole “head down” mantra. At least, that’s what Alec thinks. He also thinks there might be more to it, though he’d never say that at loud.

He doesn’t know what they’re running from, or who. His father would never admit that they were; he’d just use another one of his excuses.

After breakfast, Alec washes the dishes like he always does. There’s no dishwasher, and they all used to take turns cleaning up. Then his father didn’t want to anymore, and Jace would always swear it wasn’t _his_ turn to do it, so Alec does it.

Their backpacks sit on the floor by the front door. They do their homework downstairs every night, and their father watches them, if he isn’t locked away in his study. He thinks it’s “good” to have structure.

Their cellphones always stay downstairs, too. Their father doesn’t believe in them, or computers, or social media. He says they’re distractions, and shouldn’t be in the bedroom, for anyone.

So every morning, Alec and Jace gather their backpacks, and their phones, and head out the door.

“I’ll pick you up from school, two-fifteen on the dot,” their father says as he locks the door behind them. He only locks two locks, though on the inside, there’s much more.

The bus could pick them up for school, they’re far enough out, but their father always says no. He always drives them, and he always picks them up.

Doveport is a small town in New Jersey. Most of the houses are old with good amounts of land, though there’s some modern developments scattered back farther by the school. Downtown consists mostly of mom-and-pop shops, a few chain grocery stores, and some small restaurants. Any big superstores, or anything fun, is out of town. They never do that kind of stuff, unless their father is with them.

The sun is finally starting to come up, and Alec stops to take a deep breath as their father unlocks the car. It’s a beat-up minivan, and they’ve all had to sleep in it more times than Alec can count. Weeds are popping up all over the lawn, and the grass needs cut. The sun reflects off the windows of the house behind them. It’s gray, with matching shingles falling off the roof, and moss growing up the side. The porch has cracks running through the cement, and every day, Alec thinks how unwelcoming it looks, that it’s no wonder no one comes to visit them.

“Alec, come on,” Jace says, climbing into the backseat of the car, and Alec turns to follow him. A dog yapping makes him look up as he’s about to close the door.

It’s Mrs. Creary, their neighbor. There’s a good amount of yard between her house and theirs, plenty of privacy. She’s old and lives alone, with no husband or kids, though she has a boyfriend that always comes to visit, and her Yorkie that she walks every morning, named King. She walks him to the end of her property line, then turns back and heads the other way. But she always makes mention to say hello. She lifts her hand in a wave now.

“Good morning, Alec!” she calls. “Good morning, Jace! Good morning, Michael!”


End file.
